


just as the source of light is burning

by andawaywego



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3392525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andawaywego/pseuds/andawaywego
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'There's pain blossoming in your chest; red, like the sun through your eyelids, like the yes in her answer, like your vision when she'd stood before you and announced their engagement—told everyone that they were going to be getting married.' Ten mornings in the life of Quinn Fabray. Faberry endgame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just as the source of light is burning

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Neither Glee nor any of its characters are mine.
> 
> Spoilers: Through season four, which I actually haven't seen all of. Nothing too bad, unless you're completely clueless about Quinn's storyline.
> 
> Pairing: Mentions of Rachel/Finn, Quinn/Finn, Quinn/Puck, and Quinn/Santana, but Faberry is endgame.
> 
> A/N: Again, posting my works from FF.net. This was actually the first I wrote for this pairing.

…

_just as the source of light is burning_

..

.

_l. and hold it up to light again_

.

You wake up before your alarm and the sun is already shining. It's bright and it's blinding as it shines through the windows beside your bed, bouncing off the bare walls and the unpacked boxes still stacked around your room.

You blink a couple of times and try to clear your head of the lingering post-sleep haze, looking around your still unfamiliar room.

Today is your first day of high school—your first day as not Lucy.

In a few minutes, you'll have to get up and get ready for school. You'll have to put on your brand new Cheerios uniform and make sure your hair looks perfect before you face your new peers.

But for now, you're just lying in bed. You have time to breath and think about how everything is about to change.

Nothing will be the same again after today.

You can't say you're sad about that.

Your view on this will change in just one short year.

.

_ll. as I waited for lightning to strike_

.

You don't so much wake up as realize that it's morning. The Hudson family's basement doesn't exactly have the best view of the outside world, but your phone is charging on the floor by the pull-out sofa, so you can see '6:35' glowing dimly in the darkness.

You've only been in bed for four hours, even if you never actually slept. Finn had been up with you until then, talking quietly into the wee hours of the morning—about plans and what ifs and I'm sorrys.

You really hate how life really likes to sneak up on you and kick you when you're already on the ground.

You know that later you'll probably tell yourself that you were being stupid and that this would have happened eventually anyway but for now you let yourself believe that you'd been blind-sided. You allow yourself to blame Finn even if he'd been the one to hold you as you'd quietly wept yourself into silence, even if he's the one you're lying to. You'll take any comfort you can get these days.

You also know that Finn will probably confide in her as soon as he gets a chance. He has luxuries like allowing other people to know the secrets of his personal life—he has someone who cares. You don't have that. You think maybe you never have.

You imagine briefly that you have Puck you can go to—he's been throwing you looks lately like he's a puppy dog waiting for scraps under the dinner table. The thought disappears just as quickly as it arrived because you know that if you go to Puck about something you should be going to Finn about, he'll be expecting something to happen on that front, and you're still so unsure so it's not as if it's worth the trouble. You'll stand by Finn as long as you can right now, even if his attention has been wavering to a certain short brunette more and more these days. He could still choose you, after all.

But you know Finn. That's the problem.

.

_lll. the emptied-out mine of her womb_

.

You'd cried yourself to sleep after four long hours of labor and an hour and a half of paperwork. When you wake up, it's still early and you can see your mother lying on the cot beside your bed and you can tell by the way she's breathing that she's asleep. You want to feel happy, glad, grateful that she's come back to you—that she'd chosen you over him—but you can't because you're so, so empty.

The sky is a deep purple, like a bruise, and you stare out the window by your bed, listening to the faint beeping of the machines all around you and you're alone even with your mother sleeping just a few feet away.

You remember all those times that it was predicted that the world was going to end, and you can't help but laugh a little. They weren't wrong that it wouldn't last forever—they just neglected to mention that it would have been today that the world would absolutely implode.

You won't see your daughter again. You can't and you won't. Shelby will be taking her home soon, giving her a life—one you never could have provided—and you're happy that she'll have that, but you're just so sick too.

You're so tired and everything's happening so fast.

If you close your eyes, you can see her sweet, little face. You wish you couldn't. You wish you didn't know that she looks just like you, but she'll probably have Puck's nose, or how she'd looked when she'd fallen asleep because it makes it that much harder to know that Shelby will be taking her away.

You can't think about this anymore—you can't change it anyway. You stay still and watch it grow brighter in the room as the sun rises.

.

_lV. i only ever saw the gathering clouds_

.

You wake up the morning after prom with your mind set on change. You want to be different, and you decide to be as the morning rain pounds against your windows, the shadows of the raindrops sliding over your skin as they roll down the window panes. You look down at the palm of your right hand and wince as you remember the sudden sting you'd felt as it had collided with the soft skin of her face the night before.

You slapped her. You remember it—the humiliation, the rage, her chasing after you. You recall the boiling anger you'd felt when you'd turned to her in the bathroom—anger because after all this time you were still Finn's second choice. You're supposed to be his first love. He was supposed to always find his way back to you.

But that's not how life goes, sometimes. Sometimes life rips the carpet from underneath your feet and forces you to lose both your boyfriend and crown in one night. So you'd slapped her.

You slapped her and she comforted you. She'd wiped away your tears and told you that you were more than just a pretty face. No one had ever told you that before. She was the first.

And you think now that there's probably a reason for that. There's probably a reason why everything always seems to make its way back to her. You just don't know what it is.

Part of you really wishes that you did.

The rest of you, however, thinks that some things are probably best left hidden.

.

_V. a ruin so strange it must never have happened_

.

You wake up with pink hair. Granted, you'd gone to sleep with it that way too, but, either way; you wake upwith pink hair.

You remember hearing stories your entire life about the strange things people do to themselves or others when they have nothing else to lose. That's probably what this is.

Your mother had told you that maybe you need to see a therapist to discuss your "issues" so you'd gone to the store and picked up the first hair dye you'd come to and now your hair was pink. You're actually considering going to a thrift store to get clothes you can tastefully shred and then wear just to further tick her off. She thinks you have issues—you'll show her issues.

It's sunny outside, even though it's only just seven o'clock, so you throw your pillow over your face and close your eyes. There's no getting back to sleep—you know that already—but the very idea of the sun is hurting your head at the moment. You run your fingers through your hair and sigh, thinking about how you probably don't even look like yourself at the moment—you probably don't even resemble the pretty girl everyone once saw you as.

But you're a lot more than that.

Her voice filters through your head, leaving a trailing headache in its wake. You try not to think about the fact that, no, you're not a lot more than that. You were never more than that and you never will be. You may still be a pretty face beneath the pink hair, but you'll never be anything else.

Groaning, you throw your covers off your body and get up, flattening your hair as you stand.

The next day, you get your nose pierced because you don't want to be pretty if you can't amount to anything more.

.

_VI. the captain of a sinking mess_

.

The sun is unbelievably bright when you first blink your eyes open. It tears itself through your vision and you snap your eyes closed again immediately. Your eyelids are pinkish red when you close them from the bright sun shining down onto them. A headache starts to form and you want to be upset that it's there, but you can't be because, for once, everything in you is peaceful.

You push your sheets down towards the bottom of the bed with your feet and slowly open your eyes to stare up at the ceiling. You curl and uncurl your toes, stretch your legs out and relish in the careless movement. A sigh leaves your lips, the air releasing and swirling all around you, mingling with the particles of the sun that are filling up your room, your eyes, your chest, you.

It's still early, so you don't get up—you just lie in your bed and smile around at the room. You think about the college application you'd sent out a few months ago, about how she'd called you when you'd finished with your essay and asked you to read it to her. You think about how she'd gushed at your word choices and powerful sentence structure and told you that you were a shoe-in. You got your acceptance letter yesterday and you're going to show her today. You want to make her proud because you're friends now—more than kind of, but less than the everything you wish you had the right to fight for.

For a moment, you allow yourself to wonder what it would be like if she was there with you—hair spilled out over your pillowcase, breathing slow and steady into your personal space, arms wrapped loosely around you as she sleeps. School starts in a few hours and the idea that you'll see her when you get there—that she'll be so close so soon—makes you feel giddy and afraid all at once.

You're in love with her. You have been the entire time, even if it took you until now to figure it out. She still has no idea, of course, and she's still with Finn, but you're ready to tell her. You're going to. Any day now.

.

_VII. everything you're sure is right can be wrong in another place_

.

You want it to be raining—it should be raining—but it's not. It's sunny and there's pain blossoming in your chest; red, like the sun through your eyelids, like the yes in her answer, like your vision when she'd stood before you and announced their engagement—told everyone that they were going to be getting married.

You wish you were numb. If you were numb, you wouldn't have to deal with this—with this pain that's making you sick and tired and angry all at once. You're angry at her, you think, but you're even more angry at yourself. You can't help but think that maybe if she knew, maybe if you'd told her, she wouldn't have been so quick to say yes. She might have rethought it or turned him down entirely. But you also know that this is simply wishful thinking because you are not Finn and you never have been and she's only ever wanted him.

You really wish it was raining outside. Maybe then you'd slide off the road on the way to school, hit a tree or a pole. You don't want to go to school. You don't want to, but you have to at the same time. If you were dead, no one would think that your absence is a sign of your being weak.

You can't be heartbroken when you're dead, either. So there's that, too.

.

_VIII. in places beyond God's dominion_

.

You forget where you are overnight and, when you wake up, you have a mild panic attack—nothing like the one you'd had yesterday because you can't walk—before you remember. But then you remember. Lima Memorial. Your brand-new temporary home.

It's cloudy outside. You can see that even though your vision is murky. Everything's blurry all the time now and you don't even want to think about how strong the painkillers you're on are.

Your mother will be here soon. So will your sister. They haven't been sleeping much, but now that you're breathing on your own they feel safe enough to leave you alone for a few hours every night.

You look down and try to move your foot, thinking that, if it worked in Kill Bill, it might work for you, too. No such luck. Your feet remain still underneath several layers of blankets and you feel like crying.

A sick part of your brain starts working, then, and you end up wondering if her touching your leg would even register. You wonder if your body would try to overcompensate and her fingers would dull the numbness, burn as she touched your skin with her skin.

She has yet to visit. Kurt said that she's blaming herself and that's why, but the message is clear either way. She is still untouchable, even if she didn't end up marrying him. The wedding is still looming in the future and you're a cripple now. An invalid. She wouldn't want you anyway.

You look down at your empty hand and try to imagine hers is in it.

You have a hard time picturing it and have to give up after a few minutes.

.

_IX. like me, she was imperfect_

.

It's the pounding in your head that wakes you up. It's behind your left eye and your tongue feels fuzzy and you have absolutely no idea where you are. Your stomach churns as you blink slowly and look around. You're in a hotel room, that's for sure. The blinds of the window beside the bed are drawn and you frown, still unsure of where you are, still half-asleep.

Something is touching you beneath the blankets and you can tell right away that it's another person. You turn your head slowly and look to the other side of the bed. Whoever it is, they're sleeping soundly, long dark hair spread out against the pillowcase and sheets, their head turned from you so that you can't properly see their face.

But you know that it's a girl and you're so confused because the last thing you remember is the wedding reception. You remember dancing and looking up at the stage and locking eyes with her as she'd sang. You'd smiled and she'd smiled back. Then your memory goes blank. But you remember her and now there's a girl in the same bed as you, with dark hair and you allow yourself to quietly wonder if it might be her.

You reach out and go to touch the girl, but she groans a bit in her sleep and rolls over and you retract your hand. It's not her. It's Santana and you remember the rest of the night now. She mumbles something in her sleep and you frown and scoot away from her, wondering why you had to go and ruin everything. There's no way your relationship with Santana can ever go back to how it was before. It's not possible.

You have a knack for making things worse.

You gather your clothes from the floor and leave the room as quickly as you can, hoping that Santana understands even though you know that she won't. As you exit the lobby, you see Finn in the parking lot outside, walking slowly towards his car and you frown, wondering what he's still doing here.

It takes you less than a second to figure it out and you have to sprint to the nearest trashcan to vomit.

Whether it's the alcohol or her and her (your) damned foolhardy decisions that has you retching in a parking lot is anyone's guess.

.

_X. and then, all at once, she isn't_

.

It's the press of someone else's skin to yours that wakes you, bringing you into consciousness to blearily blink the sleep from your eyes. You're facing your nightstand, which is tinged green from the shadow coming from the blooming tree outside your dorm window. You lick your lips tiredly and revel in the feeling of fingertips running up and down your bare arm. You turn quickly, eager to see her, eager to know that she's actually, for sure, there beside you.

She smiles as you flip around, biting her lip as her eyes twinkle with mirth. Her fingertips move to your face, running down your cheek and across your lips before she's pushing some of your hair out of the way.

You reach out and wrap your arms around her, needing to feel her against you even though you'd think you'd have gotten enough of that last night. You pull her close and the laugh she lets out as you shower her face with kisses is everything you've ever wanted and never been able to have.

"Someone's excited to see me," she says just before you capture her lips with yours.

You draw back after a moment and shake your head at her. "Rachel," you start, cupping her face with your hands. "You have no idea." She starts to smile at you but it doesn't even matter because you're already kissing her again.

..

_fin_

...

**Author's Note:**

> References.
> 
> Title taken from Red Dragon by Thomas Harris.
> 
> Full quotes taken from The Poisonwood Bibleby Barbara Kingsolver.


End file.
